Nothing Wrong With a Little Nap
by Mackie Effing Mad
Summary: What happens when you try to talk Jeff the Killer out of murder?
1. Chapter 1

** Just a little Jeff the Killer thing I wrote on my iPhone during conferences XD. Those lines were effing **_**long. **_**Plus most of the people at my school annoy me. This is a one-shot for sure, don't know how long my obsession with this guy's gonna last, but this story for sure will not be continued, unless I feel like bunching together any other future killings by this man. Not sure that would be counted as continuing. So yeah, the criticism I see for people who write Jeff the Killer and draw him is unbelievable but I decided to grow some balls and do it anyway. Don't like it, then that sucks, but be polite about it, or no virtual cookies for you. Or enchiladas, which are, in fact, heavenly. XD On with the story then~!**

"Doesn't it get lonely?" She questioned, a slim brow arching inquisitively. She was sitting up now, the covers had fallen off her thin frame, and he could see pale white skin where the hem of her thin blue tank top had ridden up with the movement.

"Lonely?" She was fucking with him. He was sure of it. This was all some ploy to get him not to kill her. To show her mercy that had long since been demolished. No fucking way. He would kill her, hear her scream. And then when her parents came running he would let them see what he'd done before cutting them down as well.

"That's what I said." She replied with a little smile. She crossed her slim legs and he could briefly see up her shorts, distracting him for a bit. "Even a psychopathic killer must feel it sometimes?"

Despite his permanent smile, the boy-killer was frowning. Did he feel it? Maybe...in the deepest, coldest depths of his mind he had that...emptiness. "That's irrelevant!" He growled at the girl who would be his victim if she would only cease her non-stop yapping. What was she, a psychiatrist? He almost chuckled at the thought, he was far beyond the help of the incessant question "and how does that make you feel?"

"Is it?" She questioned further, looking at him innocently, like she didn't know exactly what she was fucking doing. "Maybe you're just unhappy. I don't think slaughtering innocent people will help very much. Haven't you ever wanted to talk to someone? Y'know, more than the usual 'go to sleep' spiel."

"I don't need a shrink." He replied slowly, biting down on each word.

She stared for a while, then very slowly shook her head, "okay, not quite what I meant. I mean the normal everyday conversation. Meaningless banter, joking insults, the like."

"I don't need that. It's like you said, meaningless. I don't need friends. I have a knife." He chuckled darkly, "and it should really have sunk into your eye about thirty minutes ago, so if you don't mind I'd like to get on with it."

"What do you gain from killing me?" She asked quickly as he stepped forward, the first sign that he had fazed her, "more cops on your ass? Is that really what you want? It's only gonna get worse from here. The more you kill the stronger the need will be, until you start picking ridiculous fights that you have no hope of winning. You'll die eventually, and for what? A stupid high you get? A fucking rush?" She was babbling, and honestly, it amused him. She wasn't going to talk him out of this, he'd been through it too many times for the cries of the victimized to affect him. She was tense, taught as a bow, and his eyes took a slow meander down the modest curves of her body. He was thankful it was such a stuffy, hot night. She didn't have much clothing to speak of, and the shorts and too-small tank top left little to the imagination. It added even more pleasure to this night's "rounds". She was trembling, and her eyes were almost full. He slid the knife in his hand lightly over the skin of her thigh, not even enough to draw blood...yet. He let out a chuckle, enjoying it as she flinched away. If she hadn't looked to the door before she darted to it, he might not have caught her, and she might have had a chance of getting away. His arm wrapped tightly around her abdomen, pulling her back so that her back was pressed to his chest almost like an embrace. He was uncharacteristically gentle as he lay her back down on her bed. She was kicking and screaming the whole time. Her foot connected with his gut at one time, but he recovered quickly and slapped her across the face. She was sobbing, screaming and sobbing.

He leaned in close, bringing his mutilated mouth close to her ear. His hot breath made her shiver as he brushed lips across her ear lobes, "Shhhh, just go to sleep." His knife found its mark, sinking easily into the skin of her abdomen. "Oh, and thanks for the talk. I feel much better." He laughed like only a true maniac could as she lay gasping for breath. He brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear, again unusually gentle. She stared up at him with unexplainable fear in her eyes, and he grinned back gleefully, chuckling once more. He heard her parents coming then, heavy steps and quick, light steps. His laughs got louder and his hand brushed along one side of the girl's body, stopping at her leg and lifting off of her skin as he turned to the door. This was bound to be fun.

**So tell me your thoughts. :3 I had fun with this, seeing as it's my first time. Total Jeff virgin. But yeah, reviews make me smile and flames make me cry XD. Or laugh. Probably laugh. Thanks for reading and maybe more Jeff stories will pop up in the future, eh? Sounds good. **


	2. Chapter 2

**You know what? What the hell. I'll add to this. Because I have nothing to do and it's only another victim, not really continuing it, like I promised. Thanks all for the great reviews, they really encouraged me. T_T I really didn't think I was that good at writing Jeff. You're all awesome, I literally freaked every time I read a new review. Thanks again, and enjoy~!**

No matter what happened she would not scream. That was the promise she made herself when she woke up to this...thing standing at the edge of her bed, staring down at her like some twisted and contorted guardian angel gone wrong. She. Would not. Scream. He wore black and white, simple shades. Polar opposites. White hoodie, black pants. His face was scarred horribly. It was as white as his sweatshirt, a jagged slash of bright red forming a taunting smile ripped into his cheeks.

Had he done that himself?

It most certainly hadn't been an accident, being in such a precise place. Such a sinister design. She wanted to scream so badly. She was frozen on her mattress, unknowing of the fact that he already knew she was awake.

His unblinking eyes missed nothing. The slightest movements of her thin little body were never lost on him. If she shifted, he saw it. He enjoyed letting her think he didn't, though. How utterly amusing that she thought she could trick him. Jeff glanced a the clock. 2:09 AM. He had plenty of time. More than plenty. The girl's breathing was far from steady. Sometimes it was there, shaking and shuddering like an earthquake, other times it was silent, her realizing that she was being to loud and stopping her intake of breath completely. Stupid girl. He couldn't find it in him to pity her, even when she tried so hard. He didn't have the capacity for that anymore. He twirled the large kitchen knife in his hand idly, letting the feeling burn at the back of his throat and tear at the threads of his shredded mind. It was a rabid bear eager to be let out of its cage. No deep cognition was possible at this point; there was only kill. There was only blood.

The girl wanted to reach for her phone, maybe text her parents and hope they would hear it. Maybe wait until he wasn't watching her to sneak out and call the police before he realized she was gone. But no, it was behind her on the nightstand. He would know she was awake then, and she didn't know what he would do. Her foot twitched, maybe she could fight him off, disable him enough to get away. She didn't think she was strong enough, but it seemed to be her only plausible option now. She had to. Slowly she drew back her foot, hoping he wouldn't see; hoping to god he was too focused on her upper to notice her lower moving silently across the sheets.

He noticed everything, though, and this new discovery had him excited. He had held back long enough, and the feeling was raging.

"It's adorable when they try to fight back." He whispered to her, a new smile stretching out his permanent one. He licked his ruined lips and let out a low, menacing chuckle that made the girl go cold.

"W-what do you want?" She asked quietly, on the verge of tears already. How pathetic. "I'll give you anything, just please don't hurt me."

Jeff bristled at the familiar statement. That fucking same plea he heard over and over, grating on his nerves until they were just sore little nubs, "Tell me this, Teresa," he spoke her name slowly, to frighten her even more. This stranger knew her name. The cliche worked so well. "What if what I want is exactly that? What if I came here to...'hurt' you?"

She couldn't stop the sob that escaped her like a broken plea, "please." She whispered.

He growled low in his throat, "One more word and I'll rip your throat open." He rose the blade menacingly, a sick grin stretched even further across his cheeks, "Or maybe I'll just do it anyway."

She screeched like a threatened bird as he brought the knife down. It sunk straight into her neck, right below her chin, and he tore it down violently. Blood spurted out of her huge wound, ripped open from throat to navel. It splattered his hoodie, painting it red. His manic laughter rang through the whole house as he dug his hands into the slit, yanking out the entrails of the now dead girl. Her eyes were glazed and glassy, seeing nothing in their wide-open look of terror. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream that was never to be heard again. He cut the guts loose and let then fly around the room, throwing them so they hung haphazardly from any elevated object in the room.

He was still laughing when the girl's parents burst noisily into the room.

He was still laughing when he cut them down regardless of the flying bullets.

He was still laughing when he decorated the room with their remains.


End file.
